


Birds Suddenly Appear

by LiquidCaliban



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But neither realizes it, F/M, Mutual Pining, Senor Ding Dong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidCaliban/pseuds/LiquidCaliban
Summary: Natasha regularly accesses a previously unknown dimension of space-time in which she can watch Steve move in slow motion. Sexy slow motion. It's a good way to get her hot and bothered.





	Birds Suddenly Appear

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not in the business of owning these characters, or they'd be making out lots more in the MCU.
> 
> Spoilers: Just minor for specific TWS and AoU scenes, and no CW upcoming.
> 
> Pairing: Natasha pining for Steve, then other things with Steve.
> 
> Summary: Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near? Because I said so and I'm the writer. Natasha helps Steve ditch the grandpa wardrobe and discovers a new dimension of space-time as a result.

Natasha blinked as Steve walked into the conference room in slow motion, his biceps and pectorals flexing subtly under the long sleeves of his clingy charcoal Henley, thighs solidly filling his dark blue jeans. Oh, this was _beautiful_. It had been so worth the week-long effort of convincing him that shirts were supposed to fit that way if he didn’t want to be swimming in them, a mission made easier by his reliance on her to catch him up on modern culture now that he was working at SHIELD. The jeans had been less of a struggle than she’d anticipated when he’d latched onto the recognizable Levi’s brand name without questioning the fit. After some debate and a suspicious (to anyone else) number of trips to the fitting room, she’d decided the 527s best displayed him to her taste and he’d agreed to five pairs in various washes. She had been so happy to get him out of the old man pants, even if not in the way she really wanted to get him out of said pants.

Why did she have to think about getting him out of his damn pants?

She hoped her stoic mask was still in place. She glanced around to see if anyone else had been distracted by his arrival, but no one was paying him much attention. In fact, they were all just going about their business as if the most gorgeous man on the planet hadn’t just made a memorable entrance. On her right, Clint was talking about college basketball with Jackson from STRIKE. Fury and Hill were huddling over a tablet as they spoke in low voices. A loud conversation about the inconvenience of beltway construction was bouncing around the table. There was one brunette aide glancing in Steve’s direction, also in slow motion, but…

Wait. Natasha snapped her head around, back to where he was (slowly) reaching to shake hands with the Army general there to brief them on the evolving situation in Ghazni, where SHIELD could potentially be called on to intervene in the next day or two. Her mind went foggy as his arm pumped the general’s in an enthusiastic grip. Biceps, triceps, biceps, triceps, biceps…more waffle knits. Must buy Steve more waffle knits.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image remained, now accompanied by a series of others that fell firmly into her wish-fulfillment mental file. His t-shirts were up to snuff, but she found herself wondering how he’d feel about soccer pants as opposed to his preferred loose sweats for his workouts. Maybe those half-length ones for training. Shirtless Steve boxing in three-quarter length pants? Yes, please.

“Hey. Anything concrete on Afghanistan yet?”

Her eyes shot open as she realized he was sitting in the chair beside her. She tried not to react, reaching for her coffee on the table in front of her and almost knocking it over in the process. “Haven’t heard anything yet,” she mumbled, trying to hide behind her cup as she took a sip. In spite of her determination not to notice him, she added, “Nice outfit. Very modern.”

“You did help me pick out these clothes,” he replied, looking down at himself with a smile. She let out a quiet breath as he crossed his ankle over his knee and folded his hands over his flat stomach. Spandex that showed off his sculpted abdominal muscles would probably be too much, right? Right? “It took me a little while, but do feel like I fit in a little better. I was in Starbucks the other day and I saw a guy my age wearing the same plaid button-up and slacks I used to wear. A guy my real age, I mean.”

She tried not to smirk. “Bald with ear hair and stories about how coffee prices these days are highway robbery?”

“Something like that.” He nudged her gently with his elbow. She realized that his shy grin would be enough to overcome even the strongest heterosexual woman even without the complimentary wardrobe. He could flash any woman that look while wearing a hazmat suit and be assured of a phone number, at the very least. “Did I put the right stuff together today?”

For some reason, she focused on his brown leather chukkas. He needed black boots. Understated ones. They could go shopping for those this weekend if they didn’t have to deploy. Maybe they could find him a nicer cologne than Old Spice, too, although he managed to pull it off. She leaned toward him and inhaled. Maybe he wasn’t even wearing anything and this was just how he naturally smelled, because she didn’t think Old Spice was this subtle. She was about to take another deep breath when he cleared his throat and she managed to blurt out, “Different shoes.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a low, sexy chuckle. “I’m sure you’ve got a shop in mind. And I’ll need a matching belt.”

“Sure.” She managed to pull herself together as Fury settled into his seat at the head of the table, all business. “I’ll escort you to the haberdasher when we get back.”

“It’s a date.”

She hoped she wasn’t also blushing in slow motion as the briefing started.

* * *

Natasha pursed her lips as she took in Steve’s appearance. She couldn’t be too choosey with SHIELD hunting them down, but this was ridiculous. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as she eyed him. “So…how’s this?”

Kohl’s wasn’t exactly her first choice for clothing, but they could get it basic, cheap and untraceable in the large store. The real problem was concealing his physique, trying to cover up his musculature with bulky clothing that didn’t just further bulk him up. The jeans had been a no-brainer (looser 501s), but his upper body? If only he didn’t have those broad shoulders paired with that impossibly narrow waist! She waved off the light sweater she’d had him try that clung too tightly to his sculpted arms. “Take that off and wait here.”

“I think it looks…”

“We’ll find you a nicer one in cashmere at Nordstrom when this is all over. Just…” She lost her train of thought for a moment as he pulled the sweater over his head and peeled it off his arms. God damn the inventor of the A-shirt! She snapped her mouth shut as she realized she had lost track of time and he was looking at her expectantly. “I’ll be right back.”

She shot out of the fitting room and collided with a rack of clearance merchandise. She grabbed a lightweight blue hoodie that could replace the ‘Steve in disguise’ one he’d whined about her discarding earlier and a light olive jacket she reasoned she could claim was Army-chic. She added a grey t-shirt that was probably a size too big because there was no way she was letting him wander around in that A-shirt. She charged past a protesting employee back into the fitting room and thrust the clothing into Steve’s arms. “Put these on and meet me by the women’s changing rooms.”

She turned on her heel, confident that she’d thrown together an acceptable ensemble for him, even if he was still going to look like Captain America in a hipster costume. All he really needed was some Buddy Holly glasses and a condescending attitude. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she grabbed a pair of skinny jeans for herself off a shelf without pausing. She could definitely handle at least part of that transformation for him, though she’d never expect him to pull off the attitude. When she spotted a cloth jacket somewhat similar to the one she had picked out for him, she settled on their temporary identities – annoying hipster couple that totally wasn’t trying to dress like each other and if you thought they were it was _your_ issue because they didn’t care what you thought. She picked out a striped hoodie and some camisoles to layer, wondering if she should have found a PBR t-shirt for him.

He just better not split the seams on the sleeves of that jacket when he bent his arms. Steve flexing, mmmm…

She tried to blame the flush in her cheeks on a broken thermostat in the women’s fitting room when she met him by the registers a few minutes later. At least he didn’t look too buff in the clothes she’d selected for him.

* * *

Ultron was right there, right freaking _there_ and all Natasha could think about as she pulled Bruce behind the bar was how Steve’s blue shirt brought out his eyes. He hadn’t actually lifted Thor’s hammer, but he had looked amazing in the attempt, his forearms straining with thick cords of muscle, veins bulging with effort. She could imagine those arms wrapped around her body, holding her close as they…

She abruptly remembered what was happening with the actual weight on top of her. “Don’t turn green.”

Bruce’s eyes bulged as he promised not to Hulk-out, but she was already pushing him away, reaching for the pistol concealed beneath the bar. When she cleared her sightlines, Steve was there, flying through the air as he clutched one of Stark’s Iron Legion robots, tearing at its metal guts. Time slowed as they jerked around. She was trying to organize her feet running up the stairs in heels while shooting and attempting to maintain her view of Steve.

There was too much going on to maintain a clear narrative, but it was obvious when his shield blew through one of the robots that Steve was still in control at some level. She watched him tense as Thor threw Mjolnir through Ultron, destroying the talkative robot. Why did Steve even _have_ a uniform when he looked so amazing in a simple dress shirt? And why couldn’t she move from her spot on the balcony as she watched him?

* * *

Natasha thought she had acclimated to what she liked to think of as Slow Motion Steve over the past few years, but she didn’t particularly like the idea that anyone else was accessing that particular dimension of delayed time. He was in a suit today, navy blue with no tie and an open collared light blue button up. Her mouth had actually started to water when she’d met him this morning in the parking garage at CIA headquarters. She had noticed that Sharon Carter was watching him with unnecessary attention during their review of an Avengers’ mission in Buenos Aires, but Natasha hadn’t actually been concerned about it until she had overheard a conversation during the coffee break.

Sharon sidled right up to Steve as he prodded the automatic milk dispenser. “How’s it going?”

“Uh, okay.” He grimaced as his coffee turned light tan with excess cream. “You? I guess you’re doing okay without SHIELD, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good with the CIA. I don’t have to ask if you’ve been busy. Seems like I see the Avengers on the news every week.”

“Seems that way.”

“So, are you too busy to have dinner?”

Steve shrugged, still failing to observe Sharon’s obvious intent. “Sometimes.”

“Then you _never_ have dinner?”

“Well, sometimes Nat and I…oh.” He suddenly ducked his head like a shy teenager, shoulders pulling up toward his reddening ears. “This is the part where I tell you that you look hungry or something, huh?”

“You don’t make it so painfully complicated.”

“Right. So…did you want to have dinner sometime?” Time abruptly slowed again and his lips bent softly as he formed the words, “With me?”

Sharon looked horsey as she pronounced, “Sure!” with emphasis on the first phoneme. Natasha wanted to either punch her in the face or disappear through the floor; only the latter was disturbing. She punched people all the time, occasionally just for the hell of it. Steve having dinner with Sharon though…

Natasha shoved her way past three lower-ranking agents as she made her way out of the Langley conference room where the coffee and pastries were set up. There was no reason for her to be annoyed that Steve had finally asked Sharon out, just like Natasha had told him to so long ago.  He was behind her within seconds in the hallway, still holding his milky coffee. “Nat…hey, Nat! Where are you going? Is something wrong?”

Something wrong? _Something_ … It took every ounce of her self-control not to spin on her heel and demand to know what he wanted from Sharon fucking Carter and her blonde hair and long legs and… Natasha instead seized on some intel about Kazakhstan they’d both overheard earlier. “I know people in Almaty and even if they’re on the wrong side, not all of them are bad.”

“We’re not going to…”

“Yeah, sure we aren’t.” She walked away without giving him another word.

He didn’t question her, but Clint did when she arrived at her car. “Seriously? You have friends in Almaty you’re worried we’re gonna have to shoot?”

“I _know_ people,” she corrected, not bothering to ask why he was hanging upside down from a rafter in the parking garage ceiling. “And you can always beg off on a family obligation if you don’t want to go when we get the call.”

“True. Of course, you could do the same. Auntie Nat’s always a popular houseguest. Coop wants to test some new hide and seek skills we’ve been working on with a ‘real spy.’ Apparently I don’t rate.” He somersaulted to the floor. “In the meantime, pizza?”

“You had me at beer,” she replied, even though he’d never mentioned pitchers at their old harborside haunt in DC. She was probably going to skip straight to vodka anyway. At least Clint had long since given up mentioning her preoccupation with Steve and his distracting sexiness.

* * *

A week later, Natasha was back at HQ and just reaching the end of her vow to never, ever drink again when a knock interrupted her from uncapping a fresh bottle of vodka. She opened her door on a sheepish Steve. “Hey. You busy?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the bottle on her kitchenette counter. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

“I need your advice. I’ve got this dinner reservation tomorrow in the city. It’s at a place called Le Bernardin?”

“Fancy,” she commented, not moving from her spot in the doorway. He was really trying to impress Sharon if he was springing for such an expensive and notable restaurant. “Do you need someone to babysit Sam or something?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I was actually hoping you would tell me what to wear. I’m more of a diner kind of guy, but I don’t want to stick out like a yokel.”

“Right. Can’t enjoy French cuisine in jeans and a t-shirt.” She sighed. There had been plenty of chances for her to suggest she and Steve go to dinner, though she wouldn’t have insisted on such a pricy offering, and she’d clearly missed her chance. She could at least watch him walk out in style. “You still have that charcoal suit?”

“Sure. Could, um, you come help me pick out a shirt and tie? Maybe?”

A few minutes later, she was in his quarters, lying on her stomach on his bed, sipping straight from her vodka bottle as he dressed in the bathroom. She’d brought it with her with the intention of heading to the communal lounge to see if anyone was up for shots and a bad movie, but he hadn’t been happy when she’d just held up a subtly striped tie over a dark red shirt and insisted on trying everything on together.

She turned toward the bathroom door as it opened. He stepped out in slow motion. Damn. Good damn, bad damn and _Goddamn_! He looked…beautiful wasn’t the right word, but it was the only one her brain seemed willing to supply as he turned so she could see him from the back. Yes. The ass was as hot as ever. He spun back around expectantly. “I clean up good, huh?”

“Uh huh.” She really needed to work on the jaw-dropping thing. It was her own fault; she’d picked his clothes, after all. Sharon had better fucking appreciate him, putting on a suit and buying her dinner. She was so busy fuming, she nearly missed him asking what she was going to wear. Wait, what? “What?”

“I was just wondering what you were going to wear. It only seems fair that I should get a preview, too.”

She wanted to be angry, but it was nearly impossible with him standing there looking so gorgeous and sincere. Deciding she could play along, she waved a hand down her current leggings and hoodie ensemble. “I was thinking something like this.”

“That won’t do.” A grin quirked his lips as he tried to give her a serious look. “You need to dress up for Le Bernardin.” He walked over to his closet and pulled out a garment bag. “Pepper even sent this for you when I asked about nice restaurants and told her what I was planning.”

“Pepper sent me a dress so I could see you off on your date with Sharon?”

“My date with…” His face fractured in confusion. “I’m trying to…”

Realization dawned and her anger shifted from Sharon, who really hadn’t done anything wrong, to Steve, who was totally deserving of an ugly shiner to wear to his date. “Look, I’m sure Pepper was just being nice and she misunderstood what you were asking when you talked to her, but I didn’t think you’d be such an asshole.” Natasha stood and walked to the bedroom door. “You look good. Enjoy your dinner with Sharon and explain things to Pepper at some point so I don’t look like an ungrateful bitch.”

“Nat, wait.” His grip on her upper arm was gentle but firm, not letting her pull away. “Shit, I screwed this up.”

“Language,” she muttered half-heartedly. Even if he’d been trying to joke around, she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. Of course, she shouldn’t have reacted so strongly. That was a dead giveaway he’d hit a sore spot she’d been hiding from him for _years_.

“I was trying to be clever, because I thought you had to be creative these days, but I should have just come right out and asked because nothing ever works when I try to be modern on my own and…”

“Steve, let me go.”

“Wait, Nat. Please, just let me…” He released her arm, but stepped in front of the door to block her exit. “I should have done this years ago, the first time I…well, not the very first time we met, but at least when we ended up working together at SHIELD, but the truth is I was nervous and things were just so easy otherwise with you and…”

“You’re rambling,” she interrupted, wondering if she could manage to move him without injuring them both.

“Sorry. I just…” When she met his eyes, they were shining with emotion and so beautifully blue. “Sometimes when I’m looking at you, it’s like the world just disappears. We could be in a room full of people and the only one I see is you. I don’t even care who else is there when you’re around. There’s…it’s not…this is gonna sound silly, but I kinda look forward to no one but Nat time. I’ve been making dumb excuses, but I don’t want to do that anymore.”

She blinked slowly, trying to wrap her head around this revelation. She hadn’t ever considered the possibility that there was some kind of mutual attraction that existed beyond their admittedly deep friendship. Her head began to spin and she remembered that she’d left her vodka bottle on his bed. For some reason, it seemed of paramount importance that she retrieve it. She desperately wanted to feel the burn of the alcohol through her body and convince herself that this was part of a drunken delusion. Even with all the time, all her desire, she was terrified to take this step. She grabbed the bottle, but didn’t unscrew the cap. Almost against her better judgement, she asked, “Do I ever walk in slow motion?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She turned to face him. “But why are you telling me this?”

The silence stretched as he looked at her – not stared, but looked, really _looked_ at her. “Natasha, would you have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“What about Sharon?” she asked weakly, grasping at straws. This was really happening. She was in his bedroom and this was happening.

“What about her?” He loosened his tie and undid the first button of his shirt, exposing some of his stubbly neck. In slow motion again. Shit. He went on, “She and I had dinner in DC after that meeting you ditched early at Langley. I found out something I already knew – I prefer having dinner with you. So…would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? It's a date?”

She pursed her lips. This shouldn’t take so much thought. She finally smiled. “I should probably try on that dress.”

* * *

They barely made it to the reservation the next night, having been distracted immediately after she’d slipped into (and, more importantly, out of) the dress, which fit her amazingly. After dinner, they checked into a hotel rather than using one of their rooms at Stark Tower. Natasha had discovered that Slow Motion Steve also happened during sex and it was utterly spectacular. She didn’t even ask about his No One But Natasha Time, because she could see its presence written all over his face.


End file.
